


Built From Ashes

by runsinthefamily



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Feelings, Body Worship, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:02:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minific about Castiel resurrecting Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Built From Ashes

When God created man, he used the clay of the earth. Water and minerals and the quick spark of electricity, atoms drawn from stars. Whether it took the sixth day or thirteen billion years was, in a way, irrelevant. Miracles are miracles, whatever the timeframe.

It took Castiel less than the span of a human heartbeat to take the spoiled remains of Dean Winchester's body and rebuild it into a vessel worthy of housing his soul. 

A unique task, for an angel. Resurrections were not, generally, the business of God's warriors but after an eternity of battle it was strangely satisfying to turn his hand to creation. Castiel lingered over it, smoothing away scars left by knife and teeth and claws, the compressed cartilage between the fourth and fifth vertebrae, the lingering ache in a shoulder too often dislocated. Dean's body was so battered for one so young. _A warrior_ , Castiel reminded himself. No less of one than himself, with no less of a worthy ideal. The pursuit of it had not been kind to him. Residual, microscopic brain damage from multiple concussions. Numbness in his left hand from nerve damage. A broken molar, never fixed. Castiel laid his Grace against Dean's mortal frame and made it perfect again, better than before, a glory of well-knit bone and muscle. 

And when it was done, he trailed the edge of his wing against the closed eyes and sculpted lips and marveled again at the work of his Father's hands. Now the work of his. 

_Blasphemy_ , he told himself, but could not let the thought go. What Dean was now, Castiel had made. 

Deep inside his Grace, Dean's soul was curled in on itself, unaware, cradled in light. Castiel began to draw him forth and then hesitated. A sign. He would leave Dean a sign, to let him know that his salvation was no accident. He laid his hand against the unmoving, cool flesh of Dean's shoulder and let Dean's soul out, a stream of grief and passion and denial and love, love like an ocean, like the solid pillars of the earth. 

_No, please ..._ Dean begged as he left, as he tumbled down into his clay again. _Don't leave me!_

_I will be with you soon,_ Castiel told Dean. His hand seared white hot against Dean's shoulder, a last spark of communion between them, and then he pulled away. _Wake._

The green eyes flew open wide.


End file.
